Her face is what happens when the sun stains footprints across the sky. He can't understand why she glows this way every time she sees him.

"Vegeta…" her voice is thick with tears, matching the ones sliding down her cheeks. She opens her mouth to say more, her lips fumbling over unspoken words. Then she decides to let his name trail off in the wind as she smiles instead, flashing him a sole thumb.

He feels his hand being pulled downwards, forcing him to look away from Bulma. He's met with large blue eyes that rival her own, except on a much smaller face. His face. There's a smile so big there it threatens to swallow him whole. He grunts uncomfortably, but says nothing.

"I heard you, Papa!" Trunks looks at Vegeta with so much admiration it makes his chest swell. He's never told the boy, but the way Trunks looks at him always makes him feel like a winner. Like he's never faced a loss in his life. "I heard you asking for the Earth's help! That was really cool of you, Papa!"

At the reminder, Vegeta feels an immense amount of relief. Less than an hour ago, he was staring death in the face. He couldn't make peace with it, not this time. Not when he heard that Bulma died. Or Trunks. Killed because of some insane pink blob that he couldn't destroy. That he was too weak to get proper vengeance from for the death of his family.

And here he stands, his son tugging on his arm, his wife gleaming at him like she's been waiting lifetimes to see them. Vegeta has never known what it would be like to miss them, but the peaceful calm that being reunited with them brings washes over him in soft waves.

He turns back to Bulma, meeting those emotional eyes that make him feel uneasy. On one hand, he's used to her living freely in her feelings. He's used to the idea that, for whatever reason, she's chosen to love him. To give him a son. To marry him when he was at his lowest, to praise him when he trains for his strongest. It's a comfortable dream that lives in the back of his mind, one that he's grown accustomed to all of these years.

On the other, he doesn't like this feeling. It's new, despite the time he's had this family. He doesn't know how to fully welcome the sense of home Bulma and Trunks gives him. He doesn't know what to make of their adoration for him, their belief in anything he does. Nappa used to do it, Raditz too, but with them it always felt like a contest. Felt like he needed to be the best so they never got any ideas of who was the rightful prince. Their words of praise fell to his feet just short of his ears. But with his family….it is different.

He swallows as the thought crosses his mind. Different… like a satisfying relief. Like what he imagined beating Frieza would feel like. Or being the prince of a race that marched behind him. Or reaching a level that Kakarot could never ascend to. He agonized over it in hell; living with all of his regrets like a loop de loop of a film he didn't want to see. Dying for nothing. Kakarot's deception about his power level. Killing those people at the tournament because he let that idiot Babidi give him superficial power. Hearing Bulma's screams from the crowd. At the time he didn't care; he was too wrapped up in trying to fight Kakarot. But when he thought about his former life with the living, her screams echoed through his brain until he could barely stand it.

He doesn't notice when she's walked closer to them, but her hand is on his shoulder. "You okay?" Her eyes still glimmer with tears.

He studies her face for a pause before nodding slowly. "Trunks," he turns down to his son, who is still clinging to his hand, "Do you have the energy to fly home yourself?"

A seed of determination sprouts across the boys face, and he lets go of Vegeta to flex his arms outright. "You bet I do, Papa!" Soft gusts of wind pick up around Trunks' body, and while his power is weaker than normal, it's still more than enough than Vegeta could ever give him credit for. He is his son, indeed.

"Good," Vegeta turns to Bulma and grabs her hand, leading her away from the cheerful audience behind them. Her face breaks out into astonishment and Vegeta can't blame her. This isn't like him, he knows. He's never reached for her like this before, outside of their bedroom anyways. But he pulls her until the gap between them is nonexistent. Her chest ghosts against his own and she stares at him with widened eyes. Vegeta stares back, as if he's seeing her for the first time. He lets his eyes say what his pride won't allow him to. That he's sorry. Sorry for the tournament, sorry for dying. Sorry for not protecting her. For not protecting their son. Sorry she died. Sorry he wasn't with her when she did. Sorry that she missed him. Sorry for it all.

And behind all of that, he hopes she can see something else. Something that makes him blush as soon as he thinks it. Something that he can't say, even though she's always told him it's okay. Says that she can map it on his face as if his skin is made of stars. But now, given the circumstances, he hopes that she can read it clear.

She smiles and squeezes that hand that circles around hers. "Oh, Vegeta," she wipes her eyes dry, a soft laugh falling from her lips. Her voice curls around him until he can barely breathe, and he's realized now how quiet it's been without her around. Once upon a time ago, he would've felt victorious at getting her to shut up, but now he feels its necessary to hear her speak. "I really love you, you big dummy."

He chuckles at her spunk. She's the only one can ever insult him and not make him feel disrespected. He supposes its always been like that with her, really. Even when he threatened her life in the beginning. Who would've though, he thinks quickly, that he'd be here with her and their child now? Especially considering his state of mind back then. Life's funny that way, he guesses.

"Bulma,"he says softly enough for her to hear, "Are you ready to go home? "

She sighs in relief, as if she's been waiting to hear that. With everything that's been going on, he knows home must sound like a vacation to her. She nods, looking to Trunks.

"Trunks," Vegeta calls, scooping Bulma's legs under his arms. She cuffs her hands together around his neck, and he's reminded of how well she fits into his arms. How perfect her curves molds into him. "It's time to leave." He walks to the edge of the Lookout, not bothering to turn around and announce their departure to anyone else. No one else matters to him right now, anyways.

The wind carries them as he flies over the edge, cradling Bulma close to his chest. Trunks follows them, circling around them with some childish tricks he like to do. Normally, Vegeta would tell him to stop and just fly regularly, but for now he'll just let the boy live. For now, he just wants to live. He's just happy to live.

And Vegeta vows to make sure that he does just that. Live. Live to be the strongest. Live to never be this weak anymore. Live for himself. Live for them.

He'll never let this be taken away from him again.

OooOooo

So I found this in my phone while I was cleaning it out. Figured I'd share.